Snapshots
by Unicorn0401
Summary: A collection of short oneshots about Ash and Serena from when they're 18 onwards.
1. addictive

It starts with a lie. It's a small lie, not quite a white lie, not quite an evil lie either, it's the kind of lie you tell yourself and others that's lost somewhere in varying shades of grey. He tells himself that it's only one time, that he will never let a thought like that pass his mind ever again- part of him longs to tell himself that it won't be just one time, that it could never be one time, not when it was her, not when she was looking at him like that. He doesn't think it's wrong, it's not as if he's the first male to ever think of a girl that way but, he can't shake the feeling that he's crossing some sort of line or breaking some kind of rule. He thinks it anyway, he disregards any warning his subconscious tries to give him, because it's just a rule and he's always been a rule breaker. He has yet to learn that all rules can be broken but, some rules need to be kept to protect himself. He dares to think the thought, dares to see her as more than just a friend, dares to consider her in a light that is anything but friendly. He tells himself he won't do it again, that she is a friend, that he shouldn't think of friends like that, but ... he does do it again.

It happens before he can stop it, the thought slips into his brain and blooms before he has a chance to squash it. She smiles, a quirk of her lips that is soft and warm and affectionate; he can't help but think about what it would be like to wake up to a smile like that. A wall in his mind is broken, shattered when he decided to think that thought, to break that rule. He can't stop thinking it, can't stop thinking what if, what if, what if. She's on his mind even when she's not there but it doesn't matter he can stop, he can rid her from his mind, can uproot her like pulling up daisies. Her hand brushes his and he feels feverish, she pulls him in close and there's fire in his veins, she laughs, lilting and perfect, and his brain is alight with euphoria. She's consuming him, the thought of her is tearing up his brain, rooted so deep it's become a need to see her, to hear her. He can quit whenever he wants, can kick his habit as easy as breathing.

He stops seeing her, stops contacting her, swears that he'll lock her in the friendzone and that's where she'll stay. Except he can't, he can't quit and no matter how many times he tries to pluck her from his thoughts she's rooted so deep he just doesn't have the strength to pull her out. He wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night; it's her smile that haunts his dreams, it's her laughter that echoes in his ears. She's everywhere, he wants so badly to pick up the phone, to turn up on her doorstep, because he's already an addict; she's the worst kind of drug, the kind that sinks into your system and stays there, the kind that sends you so high you see: the stars, the universe, heaven. She's a class A drug and he's going through withdrawal.

He lasts two weeks before he cracks, grabs the phone and breathes properly for the first time since he decided she wasn't good for his health. She's bright like the sun and serene like the moon, she's something otherworldly, superlunary. Suddenly, being an addict doesn't seem to be so bad, not when she's the drug, not when she's smiling at him like that. He's craving more of her everyday, he needs her like he needs air but, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay because she's just a drug and this is just infatuation. There's a part of his soul that's whispering her name like a prayer but, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay because he's not falling, he's just used to the feel of all her sweet words fizzing through his bloodstream. There's a picture of her on his bedroom table, just her beaming at the camera, it's the only thing he owns that never gets dusty but, that doesn't mean a thing. He has her number on speed dial, because sometimes her voice is the only thing that calms the storms of emotion that rage under his skin. It doesn't mean a thing, it doesn't mean a thing, it doesn't mean a thing.

He's an addict; he craves: her heart, her soul, her mind but, he's not falling. He tells himself he can't be falling; a part of him knows however, he can't not fall, not when it's her, not when she's looking at him like that.


	2. Branded

It's only in his absence that she realises just how he's ruined her. She's got every smile he's ever given her pressed like flowers between the pages of her mind, she's got his laughter bottled and all the words he's said to her placed between glass plates and catalogued. He burns so bright that he's managed to sear an impression of himself on her skin without even trying. It's almost unfair how in love with him she is, how easily he could trap her with just one look, one glance. She's long past the stage of finding a way out, of denying what's painted in neon colours across her face, the truth is she's got his fingerprints burned into the surface of her heart from all the times she's tried to lay her in his palms and he doesn't even know.

She wants to blame him, wants to say it's his fault she fell, say it was him, with his eyes that cut right through her and his voice that sounds like home, that has captured her heart without him ever needing to lift a finger. But, it was her that opened the door to her mind wide open and pulled him inside, it was her who had carved a home for him in her heart and given him the key so he could come and go as pleased. Maybe if he wasn't quite so bright and quite so beautiful she would have been able to snatch the key she made him right out of his hands; been able to give it to someone who she knew would use it, would covet it.

It wasn't right to say that he had ruined her, not when she'd took the red hot poker of all his promises and branded herself, not when she'd fallen with both eyes wide open knowing that he was still standing with his eyes shut tight, not when she'd been the one to ruin herself with no help from him.

Not when she'd do it over and over and over again.


End file.
